Sherlock Antics
by detectivesherlock
Summary: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters (sadly). This is just where I'll post a few random Sherlock drabbles. A little Johnlock and mild swearing.
1. Skull

_A/N: Heh I'm not very good at long stories about humans, so I'll just be posting a few drabbles now and then. Almost summer time yay. _

__"SHERLOCK!" John yelled at the top of his lungs. Damnit. Why couldn't that man listen to him for once?

The door slammed and he heard the pounding of long feet down the stairs.

John sighed. Sherlock had just rushed out of the house...again. And this time he had left John tied to a chair as an 'experiment.' He had been testing whether a victim of military backing could get out of this sticky situation. It had to do with a crime. Well, he soo found he couldn't. Wriggling experimentally back and forth, he sighed again. Bored. Great. Now he knew how Sherlock felt all the time.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled loudly, but she was downstairs as always and rather hard of hearing. He had a lunch appointment with Mike Stamford and he had no intention of standing or so to speak, sitting, him up.

Maybe five or ten minutes had passed and he sighed for the umpteenth time. He was facing a wall pretty much. Nothing interesting to look at except Sherlock's books, the smiley face of bullets he had put in the wall when he was bored, and the skull he often talked to. He couldn't guess why on earth Sherlock talked to a skull, but then again he didn't have a lot of friends. Wonder why...

A little over twenty more minutes passed and he groaned. He didn't like being tied to the chair AT ALL and when Sherlock came home, he was going to get a good tongue-lashing from him. He would bang his head against the wall out of sheer frustation, but he wasn't close enough for that. That reminded him of the skull again and he looked it over skeptically. It wasn't so unusual. He couldn't imagine Sherlock ever talking to a toy as a kid. In fact, he couldn't really imagine him playing at all. He was bored out of his mind. What was so great about talking to a skull?

"...Hello?" he tentatively said to the skull. It did nothing. Merely sitting there and staring at him with empty eyes.

"So...how are you doing?" he watched the skull skeptically. Maybe it would stand up and do the polka. Rolling his eyes, he gave up. He really didn't see the fun in this.

"Why hello John. I'm doing fine. So nice of you to ask," the skull said and John stared at it in shock. What. The. Hell. Either he was going crazy or the skull had just talked to him.

"Umm...have you been able to do this long?" he stammered, staring with wide eyes at it. What do you say to a skull?

"Of course," was its short answer.

"Why haven't you ever talked to me before?" he asked, feeling more brave. How on earth could a skull talk? And why now?

"You never talked to me before," was its obvious answer.

"Well, I'm talking to you now I guess," he replied, still feeling flummoxed and half-insane by now.

"Yes, that's a good start in our relationship," the skull continued conversationally.

"R-Relation-what?!" his mind simply went blank.

"Yes, I've loved you for quite some time now," the skull continued its rather deep flat voice.

He just stared at the skull. And the skull stared back.

After a long pause, there was a sound of a doorknob turning. Facing away from the door, Watson had no idea who it was. If they hadn't knocked, they were probably there to kill either him or Sherlock.

"Hello?" he queried.

"Surprised to see me John?" It was Sherlock. Good.

"Sherlock, you are in so much trouble now! I have missed my very important lunch date, you TIED ME TO A FLIPPING CHAIR, and by the way, your skull talked to me," he rambled in a long sentence. He was really pissed right now, but more confused as to what had just happened earlier, and a little scared.

"John, are you feeling okay? Skulls can't talk," Sherlock looked at him in a slightly confused and humorous cross, before walking over and untying John.

He stretched his arms a little and then frowned. He was fairly sure he was not crazy. Besides, Sherlock had that look on his face and when he did, John knew he was up to something.

Striding over to the skull he said, "You can talk now." Sherlock stared at him as if he had lost his mind. And maybe he had. "Hello?" he knocked on the cranium a few times with his knuckles. To his surprise, instead of a hollow echo, he heard a dull thunk.

"John..." Sherlock started, but John had his back to him and was curious.

"What the...?" he stared at a small black thing. What was it? It looked like his cell-phone, only smaller and chunkier.

"John," Sherlock repeated.

"God damnit WHAT?" John practically yelled.

Sherlock pulled out a similar device to the one under the skull. Grinning broadly, he said, "I've loved you for quite some time now. Want to go out tonight?"

John just stared at Sherlock. First, he just stared at Sherlock and then he turned red. That was the idiot's idea for a joke? To ask him out on a first date through a human skull? He realized these were small police walkie talkies. "SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock gave a barely contained giggle and raced off with his long legs into his room. John raced after him, yelling the whole time.


	2. Milk

_A/N: Here's another cute little short story. Stargazer11 ty for the fave and review ;o Yay my first fan 3_

__7:43 PM

__John opened the door tediously, hauling a couple of bags of groceries with him. It seemed every time he turned around, he was buying more milk. What on earth did Sherlock use it for? He barely ate or drank anything, and yet he seemed to consume gallons of milk a week.

There was a series of loud banging upstairs and he could hear the water running? Oh, what the hell?

"Sherlock! What are you doing up there?" he yelled. This man was incorrigible. All his bloody experiments...

"Nothing!" was the answering yell. John heard a few more loud bangs and an odd squeaking sound before the door slammed and he was nearly knocked over by a black whirlwind.

"Sherlock?" he asked again, more in confusion this time. His flatmate appeared to have just raced down the stairs in his long bundled up coat and into his room.

Deciding he was better off not knowing, he sighed and began putting the groceries away.

"Did you buy the milk?" Sherlock emerged from his room in his coat again and a slightly rumpled look to him.

"Yes..." he responded. He knew it was better not to ask. He had asked Sherlock about the disappearing milk when it had started several weeks earlier, but to no avail.

"Good," he responded curtly, "I'll be in my room. No disturbances." He was gone again, pacing quickly into his room and shutting the door behind him.

John just stared at the door for a few heartbeats, shrugged, and prepared dinner for himself and Sherlock. Whether he liked it or not, that man was going to eat. He was so thin and lanky all the time. Putting the plate by the door, he called, "Dinner's out here. Don't step on it." That had happened once before, and Sherlock had given him the silent treatment for the rest of the week.

He didn't hear a response, but as he went about to go to bed, he heard the door silently open and then close again. Good. Going up to his room, he frowned. His bed was covered in...water? Why...? Rolling his eyes, he quietly walked back downstairs and flopped down on the sofa.

3AM:

John startled awake at the sound of a door creaking open. What on earth? One eye open, he saw a long silhouetted figure moving quietly in the hallway. Sitting up, he stared as a long silhouetted figure moved into the kitchen. What the hell? Sherlock! He was in his coat, sneaking out one of the gallons of milk and creeping back to his room.

Ok, that was it. He needed to know what was going on. Standing up, he padded quietly up to Sherlock's room and slammed the door open.

"Sherlock! What are you-" he paused and stared in schock. His friend was sitting on the floor in his long coat in the middle of pouring milk into a dish on the floor. A tiny smokey grey kitten was lapping it up with its little eyes closed.

"John?" Sherlock stared at him. "Umm..." Wow, for once he was at a loss for words.

"Where did you get a kitten?" he asked incredulously. So that's where all the milk was going...

"One of the murder victims had a kitten, and it had nowhere to go. Lestrade was going to send him to a shelter," his roommate frowned.

Sherlock? He barely cared when a serial killer strewed victims all over the place, but for a kitten, he was concerned?

"You do realize you can't keep her..." John tried weakly. He could see by the set in his friend's steel grey eyes that he was not giving up the kitten, but really... Sherlock barely took care of himself.

"Of course I can. Can't decide on a name though. He could be called John," Sherlock offered.

"No. Way in hell. Are you naming a cat after me," John stated flatly. He drew the line there, "Besides cat's don't come when you call them, so why name it?"

"Hmm...intruiging," he stared, ignoring the question, and watching the kitten curiously. John felt like rolling his eyes at that. Sherlock clearly saw this as a new puzzle.

Leaning down, he picked up the kitten, "Sherlock..."

"What?" he said distractedly.

"This kitten is a female," he stated, trying not to laugh and failing.

"Oh..."

"Yeah. You didn't check, did you?" John sighed.

"No," he dejectedly muttered.

"How about Sherly?" John offered.

"John."

"Yes?"

"Shut up. We are naming her Blacky," Sherlock glared at him.

"Wait, what? That's so...normal," John stated, knowing how much his friend disliked being anything normal.

"She likes the name. Don't you little kitty?" Sherlock gave him a cute little pout, pulling the kitten onto its hind legs. The kitten gave a little mew in protest. He waved the kitten's paws pleadingly at John.

"Okay. Fine. Just go to sleep..." John rolled his eyes and left his flatmate to his kitten. Blacky was a cute little thing really.


	3. Texts

_A/N: A little texting fun. Wish I had an iPhone to text with._

**Sherlock: Bored. :(**

**Sherlock: Bored. :I**

**Sherlock: Bored. :o**

**Sherlock: Bored. ;P**

**Sherlock: Bored. :3**

**Sherlock: Bored. o3o**

**Sherlock: Bored. :D**

**Sherlock: Bored. :x **

**John: Sherlock, wat the hell are you doing?**

**Sherlock: Being bored.**

**John: No, I mean y the hell are you texting me this?**

**Sherlock: Bored**

**John: Amuse yourself!**

**Sherlock: Unraveled your sweaters 4 an experiment, fed the cat some jam, shot the floor. Bored.**

**John: You ruined my sweaters?! And y my jam? :(**

**Sherlock: This is what you would look like with a moustache. :{D**

**John: -.- Shut up. Stop texting me.**

**Sherlock: You like it. ;)**

**John: o-o**

**Sherlock: lol**

**John: Did you just say lol? xD**

**Sherlock: No. Now amuse me.**

**Sherlock: Or I'll put frozen fingers in your bed. Again.**

**John: NO SHERLOCK! If you do, I'll take away Blacky. No more kitten.**

**Sherlock: Not fair! :(**

**John: Agreed?**

**Sherlock: Fine.**

**Sherlock: John?**

**John: WHAT?!**

**Sherlock: I ate your jam. Not the kitten.**

**John: ...**


	4. 50 things Sherlock should never do

_A/N: Inspired by all those people who have done this ;o If you want, I'm open to drabble suggestions._

50 things Sherlock should never do:

1. Sing "Gangnam Style" while dancing along

2. Chase John around with a spider

3. Experiment on Mrs. Hudson

4. Tickle Moriarty

5. Tell school children it's okay to be like him

6. Turn him and John into teenagers

7. Get drunk

8. Get a tattoo of a kitten on his face

9. Take John to his mind place

10. Sing "I'm Sexy and I Know It" in front of fangirls

11. Eat all of John's Jam

12. Poke Lestrade repeatedly in the face

13. Tell Mycroft he should be a ballerina

14. Hack John's facebook and post 'Sherlock's sexy'

15. Go to town wearing only a sheet

16. Go to the mall and run up the down escalator

17. Give Anderson a wedgie

18. Repeatedly dance around Donavan saying "Freak freak freak"

19. Join football

20. Put his cotton coat through the washer

21. Put a red sock in with the John's laundry

22. Get engaged for an experiment

23. Where his purple shirt, curl into a ball, and pretend he's a grape

24. Offer to give Molly some cocaine

25. Get his nipples pierced

26. Drink a pack of Monsters to 'stay awake'

27. Cover his body in nicotine patches and walk to a crime scene

28. Roll on the floor laughing at a crime scene

29. Stand on the roof and pretend he can fly

30. Dress like John and pretend to be him all day

31. Sneak into John's bedroom and turn everything upside down

32. Do the hula in a coconut bra and grass skirt

33. Get addicted to Minecraft

34. Watch the Sherlock episodes

35. Tell Spock his ears are funny looking

36. Go on a date with his skull

37. Shoot his gun while it's in his pocket

38. Rip all the tags off the mattresses in the store

39. Try to dig a hole to China

40. Stand on his head while drinking a cup of water

41. Juggling antique vases

42. Wash himself like a cat in public

43. Attempt a staring contest with his reflection

44. Wear one earing so he looks like a pirate

45. Make John walk the plank

46. Tell Santa he wants everyone to shut up for Christmas

47. Experiment on the Thanksgiving turkey

48. Bite his toenails

49. Send derp faces to the whole police force's phones

50. Not be Sherlock


	5. Spider

_A/N: Thankies Alorawitch c: I love making cutesie things. Thought up a few more so will probably be posting around randomly. Finals... ugh. Stargazer11 thanks lol o3o and the-time-goddess-of-211, thank you so much too. -le happy dance- _

Watson opened the door and walked into Sherlock's lab room. He could usually be found there, experimenting on bodies when he didn't have a case.

"Sherlock?" he asked, peering around. He wasn't in the room. But he said he would be there...

"Shh." he heard a voice and turned to see Sherlock crouching on top of the counter and staring intently at the floor.

"What are you-?" he tried again. Some days he never understood his roommate.

"Shut up John! He'll hear you," he went back to staring at floor.

John sighed. He felt like leaving, but remembered why he was here. Walking over to the wall, he flipped on the lights.

"JOHN!" Sherlock let out a yelp and covered his eyes. He did not remove his hand for several moments and in the time, John could see what SHerlock had been staring at. A big brown spider was crawling slowly around the floor. A spider? Wait...how? His friend seemed to be exceptionally well at seeing in the dark. One of his odd little abilities.

"Is it gone?" he asked.

John couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. Sherlock, the great consulting detective, was scared of a spider?

"John, don't laugh," he frowned.

Quietly, he went over to the spider and picked it up. It squirmed a little, but he was able to hold onto it. Walking softly over to Sherlock, he deposited the spider on Sherlock's knee. It was time he could get back on Sherlock for all the mischief he somehow managed to get into.

Sherlock shifted his fingers slightly and looked at John, who was barely containing his laughter and staring pointedly at his knee. The younger man's gaze shifted with him and he let out e very unmanly shriek at the spider, who was doing no harm. John let out a roar of laughter, and then it turned into a yelp of shock as Sherlock leaped sideways away from the spider, falling towards the floor. He cought hold of John's arm as he fell and they both landed in a heap on the floor.

Sherlock. Was in his. Lap. John stared in shock at the man in his lap, who was meanwhile trying very hard to spot the spider which appeared to have vanished. He stared at the younger man and felt a blush rising in his cheeks, which he was attempting to hide. He felt like he ought to say something, but he wasn't sure what. The slience stretched as John thought about his friend.

Maybe there was more to their relationship than just friendship. He wasn't gay, but he couldn't help feeling attracted to this man whom he liked so very much. He was just so beautiful with his curly chocolate brown hair and grey eyes.

"Sherlock, do you want some coffee-?" Molly paused walking into the room and stared at them. John's mind froze for a moment. He could imagine how this must look. Then, he looked at Sherlock, whose emotions were also in seeming turmoil.

Finally, he looked at Molly Hooper, the woman who had subtly shown her infatuation for Sherlock.

"Gay," he stated.

"What?" she stared at him, blusing bright red.

"JOHN!" Sherlock yelled at him, a mix of amusement and agrievement on his face. Laughing, John unceremoniously dumped the tall man from his lap and stood up, reaching down a hand to help him up.

Instead, Sherlock pulled him down and have him a featherlight kiss on the lips. John felt warmth rushing through his body and smilked quirkily at the young man. Molly stared at them both for a moment and then heard her rush out of the room.

"People will talk," John smirked at him.

"They already do," Sherlock laughed. The bright laughter he had always loved and know was real. He did not laugh easily and when he did, he knew that it was genuine.


	6. Birthdays

**John's Birthday**

Sherlock rushed around the room, frantically cleaning. He wanted everything to be perfect for his best friend's birthday. He hadn't had time to do anything for him, as he had been very busy with imprtant cases and science experiments. He was out doing doctor stuff, which Sherlock saw little point in, but that didn't matter. He didn't know what to get John for a present. He hadn't even gotten a card.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled loudly, sweeping away science experiments with a brush of his long arms and bundling them into his room. Blacky, his kitten, wound herself around his legs mewing happily.

"Not now," he frowned at the cat and gently picked her up and put her about ten feet away.

"What is it dear?" Mrs Hudson entered the room.

"Could you run out and do me a favor, Mrs. Hudson?" he hurriedly asked. He had no idea when John was coming home,

"No dear. I have to go to a hair appointment," she said worriedly, looking at him.

"It's fine. Fine. Everything's fine," he muttered, finishing up cleaning.

"Okay dear," she glanced worriedly at him before leaving the room.

"Take that pile of books with you," he told her as she left.

"I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper," she reminded him, but she took the books anyway.

She left and he pulled frantically at his hair. What was he supposed to do? He didn't really celabrate birthdays, not with his brother Mycroft especially. Then, he had an idea. Food. Everyone ate. He could make John a cake.

_Twenty minutes later_

"Oh shit! Shit!" Sherlock frowned and dumped more water on the floor. It was on fire and there was mess everywhere. Cake remants were all over the carpet and the walls.

"Sherlock, I'm hom- What did you DO?" he stared in open-mouthed shock at his roommate, sitting in the midst of A very sticky situation.

"I..." he frowned and his lip slightly quivered. No. He would not cry. John immediately sensed it and his anger cleared.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"I tried to make you a cake..." he sighed and stared ruefully at the mess.

"With a...bunsen burner?" he looked incredulously at his friend. His face twitched and to Sherlock's surprise, he burst out laughing, "Why didn't you use the stove?"

"I don't cook much," Sherlock muttered, then hopefully, "You're not mad?"

"No, of course not," he said seriously, "It's the though that counts."

Sherlock smiled with relief and Mrs. Hudson suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"What on earth?" she stared in dismay at the mess.

"I'll explain. Sherlock, go downstairs and get some cleaning supplies. This is going to be hard to get off the rug," John laughed a little and his roommate gratefully hurried off.

John explained the situation quickly to Mrs. Hudson and she gave a light tinkling laugh, "That's Sherlock for you."

She turned to leave, but John put a hand on her shoulder, "Oh, and Mrs. Hudon?"

"Yes?" she asked.

"Don't tell Sherlock that my birthday's tomorrow."

**Sherlock's Birthday**

John layed down in his chair and frowned. Sherlock had been investigating a crime with him and Lestrade. Later, Lestrade had pulled him to the side and informed him that it was Sherlock's birthday. Somehow, he wasn't surprised his flatmate hadn't told him, but he was a little hurt by it. Then again, the cops had known Sherlock for years and Lestrade had only known because it was in his records.

Sherlock had gone off in a cab again, hurrying off someplace, but this time not telling him where.

He didn't know what to for Sherlock's birthday. He could make him a cake, but there was no milk...again and he had no idea when Sherlock would be back and what he could get him quickly. His violin was perfectly fine, he didn't wear different clothes all that often, and apart from body parts, he didn't really know what to get him that would aid in his hobbies.

Pulling out his phone, he decided to call Mycroft. Sherlock had told him that they rarely spent holidays together and he never really celebrated his birthday, but surely his brother knew him best of all.

"Greetings John. How is Shirley doing?" the voice came at the end of the phone and he couldn't help a snicker.

"Shirley?"

"Yes, my brother," Mycroft replied in his annoyingly placating voice.

"It's his birthday. I'm trying to find a bithday present for him and-" he was cut off.

"And you asked me? I haven't been on good terms with my own brother for years. I don't know what he would really want or even need, but if you want to find something for him, you'll think with your heart not your brain. Despite his...quirks...he does have feelings. Now, I am rather busy at the moment so good day doctor," he hung up and John sighed.

He thought for awhile, walked around the room, and then smiled. He had the perfect idea.

_half an hour later_

Sherlock walked quietly into the room and looked around, puzzled. His foot had crunched on a small note. It said **Deduce. Find me.**

He looked on the room and did so. The carpet floor was slightly wet in certain places where he felt and the fibers scuffed where shoes would have been. Following the trail, he reached the door. Where would John have gone? It obviously wasn't an appointment, shops were closed on Sundays at these hours, and in London there were several dozen restaraunts he could be at. He felt sure it was a restaraunt. His watch was gone from the table and John always took his watch with him when he went to a restaraunt since he liked to know the time at a glance. John also wasn't a patient man, so he estimated the distance to get to the unspecified restaraunt as well as adding the time it would take him to get there and calculated it within a ten mile radius.

Now, he went to John's closet and searched through his clothes. He had taken one of his better shirts and and had left the cat some food so it was safe to assume he was going to a fancy restaraunt with a long waiting period of preparing the food. John and his favorite restaraunt that fit all those places was the chinese restaraunt south of Winchester Avenue.

About fifteen minutes later, Sherlock arrived there, finding John had already reserved a table for two. He pulled upa chair and smiled, "Very clever John."

John shrugged, mildly pleased, "Yeah well...fingured you were bored without a case and it is your birthday after. Hungry?"

"God yes."


	7. Wisdom teeth

_N/A: I have to get my wisdom teeth out in like a week ;~; sad inspiration for a funny story with Johnlock. And I'm drinking ale. random_

"Jaawwwwn," the aforementioned man looked up from his computer and winced inwardly. Had this become a new nickname of his? If so, he didn't like it.

"Sherlock. If you need something, get your sodding butt up and get it yourself!" he yelled into the other room. There was a series of thudding footsteps, unlike his roommate's usual ones that were so soft he could sneak up on him.

"John...it hurts," he complained and instantly John was aware and paying full attention to his friend. If he was complaining about pain, it had to be bad since he had a very high pain threshold. Sherlock was in a suit and looking rather pitiful, rubbing his jaw and anxiously watching him.

"Let me see. Is it in your mouth?" John pulled his friend's cold pale hand away from his mouth.

"Yes...," he groaned.

"I can't see anything, but you should go to a dentist," he advised him, peering into his mouth. "Wait...what are these lumps?" he experimentally prodded a lump of gum far back in the detective's mouth.

"Owwww," he wailed and pulled away, but John had seen enough. There were four equal sized lumps on bottom and top corners of his jaw and he had done a quick count of his teeth.

"Your...wisdom teeth are impacted," he told Sherlock. "We're going to the orthodontist."

"But Jawwwn I don't like dentists..." came his muffled complaining.

"Too bad," he put on Sherlock's coat for him since he was still pressing his mouth with one hand. Pulling his scarf around his head, he tugged Sherlock along effectively.

_At the dentist's office_

John waited patiently in the waiting room. Sherlock had made several whining protests, but when the doctor had poked around in his mouth, he had decided that he needed them out right away. Nobody else was there and he fidgeted in the waiting room awhile.

Bored. Damnit he was becoming more like Sherlock...

_A couple hours later_

Dr. Brown came out of the door, took a look at John, and sighed. "Mr. Holmes is still under influence from the drugs needed to put him to sleep, so he will need careful watching."

"Of course," he nodded to him and the doctor went back into the room to get Sherlock. John looked at his friend and stifled a laugh. Sherlock's normally sharp eyes were bright as usual, but unfocused. He wavered a little in his step as he walked over to John, and looked positively loopy.

"Hey Jaaaaawn," he took off his scarf and wound it lazily around John's head.

"Mmmf, Sherlock. Home now," he pulled it off and took Sherlock by the hand, leading him out of the dentist office.

The ride in the taxi was surprisingly quiet. John turned to his companion to see if he was back to normal yet. Then he saw why Sherlock was so silent. Sherlock was looking under his seat for an abnornmally long period of time.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"There's a kitty-cat. It's staring at meee," he hummed.

"Umm..." he wasn't sure if he liked Sherlock on drugs or was incredibly confused.

The cab stopped at their flat and he paid the cabbie before leading Sherlock back into the flat.

"Now just stay. In your room," he deposited the loopy Sherlock on his bed, where he sprawled and began making snow angels ont he covers.

Shutting the door, he sighed and went into the kitchen. He was going to make himself some tea. Crash! John turned around and yelped. "Sherlock!" His friend was draped over the couch and John couldn't control a fit of laughter as he realized Sherlock had tripped over the couch because of his height.

There was a loud knock on the door and he sighed. Now what?

"Sherlock! We have a problem," Lestrade's voice sounded outside the door and John opened the door. "Oh, hello John. Where's Sherlock?"

"Leeeeestrade, I have a pony," Sherlock called happily from his upside down position on a chair.

"Uh..." Lestrade just stared at him.

Anderson's head peered around Lestrade and he laughed. "Sherlock's finally gone crazy," he grinned and pulled out his phone, obviously intending to put video on youtube.

"He's just had his wisdom teeth out. Tomorrow would be a better time to-" John started before movement caught the corner of his eye and he saw Sherlock rushing at Anderson.

"What the-" Anderson began before Sherlock had thrown his lanky arms around Anderson and was hugging him tightly.

"Kitty!" he exclaimed happily and rubbed Anderson's hair back and forth mussily.

"I'm not a kitty!" the poor man yelled, struggling to escape the detective's grip. Sherlock though, John knew from experience, was stronger than he looked and managed to hang on.

Lestrade was howling with laughter and John laughed along with him. Poor Anderson's face was turning red.

"Okay Sherlock, let go of the kitty," John managed, taking hold of Sherlock's scarf and pulling him off the young man. Anderson stormed off in a huff as soon as he was freed, and Lestrade sobered up with a sigh.

"All right, he's clearly not fit to work yet. Good evening," he left, closing the door and laughing at Anderson's angry voice echoing down the stairway.

"Alright, time for bed," John dragged Sherlock back to his room, but midway, the detective stiffened himself, bringing them to a stop, and smiled.

"Jawwwwn, you smell like flowers," he poked him in the face.

"Ack!" John jerked back and they went tumbling to the ground. Sherlock sat on his chest and stared at his face. "Get off you great lump!"

"Harrrry potter ba dum bad dum bum ba doo dooo," he sang.

"Sherlock!"

His friend leaned down casually and kissed him on the nose. "Hush, my teddy is trying to sleep," he told him and curled up lankily on top of him, falling into sleep.

"Oh no you don't," John shoved the sleeping Sherlock off of him, who woke up with a whine of protest and sneezed.

Putting him back in bed and this time standing a chair in front of the door, he went and sat down in the armchair with a sigh. Sometimes taking care of Sherlock was so weird. Turning on his computer, he entered a blog.


	8. Jam

_A/N: This chapter is rated T ;o A tiny short drabble._

**Sherlock: John**

**Sherlock: John**

**Sherlock: John**

**John: In god's name, what?**

**Sherlock: We're out of milk.**

**John: How? I just bought three gallons of milk a few days ago! How did you use all that milk?**

**Sherlock? An experiment. **

**John: Why does that not surprise me... Fine, I'll get you some milk if you buy me some jam.**

**Sherlock: No.**

**John: Why?**

**Sherlock: You are obsessed with jam.**

**John: No I'm not!**

**Sherlock: What use does jam have in saving lives? Catching criminals? Observation?**

**John: I don't know, but it tastes bloody brilliant!**

**Sherlock: And is good in bed.**

**John: What?! o-o**

**Sherlock: That wasn't me, I swear! **

**John: I agree. I love using jam in bed.**

**Sherlock: ...**

**John: Okay, that wasn't me either! What the hell...?**

**M: Teehee**

**John: Who is this?**

**Sherlock: Moriarty GET OFF OUR PHONES!**

**M: ;P **


	9. Christmas

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews c: I lurve Sherlock and John such a cute pair! Ugh, I just had so many finals. Tomorrow is my last day of school!_

__"Sherlock," John looked at his flatmate who was at the time, laying on the couch with his eyes closed...upside down.

"Mmph?" the other man replied, eyes still closed.

"What are you doing?" he raised an eyebrow. It was Christmas. Surely he had something better to do than laying on the couch. Then again, he was kind of touchy around Christmas time and had never seemed to really celebrate it.

"Calculating how long it takes to lose control of thoughts after being upside down. It's important," he hummed.

John stared at him for a while. He looked ridiculously cute with his floppy dark brown locks covering his face. "Come on. We're going to meet Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson at park," he turned to the door, shrugging his coat on. He slung a bag over his shoulders and groaned as his friend uttered one word.

"Boring."

"Sherlock, it's not boring! It's Christmas and you're coming," he ordered him. He was not going to let Sherlock just lay around the house and be all dark and brooding.

"No," Sherlock snapped, opening a sharp gray eye to glare at him.

John sighed, "Come and we can watch Criminal Minds episodes afterwards." He regretted getting Sherlock fixed on television series, especially Criminal Minds. He always felt the need to correct any scientific mistakes in the program and point out who did it before the episode ended.

"Really?" His friend had piqued interest now.

"Yes, now get UP," he tugged on the lanky Sherlock's arm and he rolled off the couch, clambering to his feet rather reluctantly.

The taxi ride was quiet, with Sherlock looking out the window with a vaguely vacant expression.

Getting out, John looked around the park and smiled. It was snowing and rather cold, but it was a nice kind of cold. A lot of people were there and the great Christmas tree was right behind the frozen over pond. Looking back at Sherlock, he sighed. His friend's gaze was flicking from person to person and John could only guess he was analyzing them. Couldn't he take a break for once?

"John! We're over here," Lestrade waved at him from the pond. He, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson were wearing ice skated and skating close to each other so they could talk.

"Come on Sherlock," John opened his bag and took out the two pairs of ice skates. He pulled off his shoes and started lacing the skates up. Sherlock frowned at him.

"I don't ice skate."

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade laughed, "Something the great Sherlock Holmes can't do?"

"Hi Sherlock," Molly said shyly, but as usual, Sherlock barely glanced at her.

"Deary, it's easy. It's like walking," Mrs. Hudson encouraged him.

"It's not that I **can't**. It's just that I **don't**," Sherlock started to edge away and John almost laughed at Sherlock's expression. It seemed a mixture of annoyance and ebarrassment.

"Oh come on little brother. You haven't done it since you were ten years old," a smooth voice came from behind John and he looked at Mycroft.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Usually, the Holmes made a point to stay away from each other unless necessary.

"Oh please. Even I can pretend to enjoy the Christmas spirit with my brother," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Come on Shirley."

"Shut up Mycroft," Sherlock glared at him.

"I can show you how," Molly offered.

"I **know** how, but-"

John sighed. Grabbing Sherlock's scarf, he pulled him quickly down into a sitting position and started taking his shoes off.

"JOHN."

"Be quiet Sherlock. This is part of our agreement," John put the ice skates on Sherlock's feet and started tying them. Lestrade looked like he was trying to smother a laugh, while Mycroft a sneer. People will talk...

"John, I don't skate," Sherlock made a final weak protest before John pulled him out onto the ice.

"We'll leave you two alone then," Lestrade winked, grabbing a surprised Mycroft's sleeve and pulling him away. Molly gave Sherlock a wistful smile and skated off with Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm not gay!" John yelled after Lestrade but only heard a faint laugh in reply. "Come on, let's look at the christmas tree," he tugged Sherlock, but the man was rooted to the spot.

"It's a christmas tree John," he frowned, but reluctantly followed him. He was immediately surprised by how well Sherlock could skate. He had made it seem like he could not. Although, he was quite lean and graceful despite his height. And although he wasn't gay, he had to admit his friend was very attractive.

"You can skate," he simply stated.

"Of course," he sullenly muttered, as they stopped by a twenty foot tall christmas tree.

"Then why did you say you didn't skate?" John asked him confusedly. Why did he seem to have so many mysteries shrouding him?

"When Mycroft and I went skating when we were younger, I fell in the pond. I couldn't swim so I almost drowned. Mycroft saved me in time," he said curtly and John just stared. He had never knew... But if Mycroft had saved his life, why did he hate him so much? Maybe that was a story for a different time. Sherlock looked haunted enough as it was.

"How did you learn to skate so well?" he asked.

"I practiced in indoor rinks. Just in case it was useful and because it improved my balance," he told him, "Imagine trying to walk around without falling over things after growing half a foot in less than a year."

There was a silence for awhile. John really didn't know what to say. Sherlock wasn't very sentimental and saying he was sorry wouldn't do much. He looked like he wanted to change the topic anyways.

"So...what do you think of the tree?" he asked him.

"Prime coniforous tree, cut down recently and illegally from a forest. Whoever decorated it was unoriginal, worked at a fast food restaraunt, was a tall female-"

"How?" John stared at him. Sometimes he had no idea how Sherlock could determine these things, even though he was learning little by little.

"Prime seeing as it is over twenty feet tall, recently cut because there's still sap stuck to the trunk and the fact that it is alive, from the forest since it has woodpecker holes and the closest tree growing place has a fence around it, and illegally obviously since the forest is protected. The person whodecorated had to be female since there are scratched from long fingernails on the ornaments and a flake or nail polish on the one high up over there. No ladder yet since the branch is bent, meaning, she had to pull down on it to hang the ornament. There is cooking grease on the ornaments high up, only could have been made by the decorator and the ornaments are placed in an unoriginal order of red, blur, green, yellow and so forth one on every branch and in a boring pattern," he rambled off. "John?" Sherlock was looking at him confused and then John leaned forward and gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek.

"Relax, it's a holiday," he smiled rather sheepishly and not knowing what had came over him. He just felt that it was time.

"I thought you weren't gay," Sherlock gave a small laugh and much to his surprise, leaned over and kissed him on the lips. It was sweet and gentle for so headstrong a man.

_Click_

"That's definitely going on Facebook," Lestrade grinned, standing further away and holding hands with Mycroft. He waved his phone amusedly at them and John blushed. Oh god.

Lestrade caught a glimpse of something in Sherlock's eye and immediately began skating away laughing. "Get back here Greg!" Sherlock raced after him and catching up with Mycroft, John laughed as they raced around the pond.

Well. Sherlock did confiscate Lestrade's phone, having those long legs of his. They spend most of the ride home in amused but a little awkward silence.

Then, John said casually, "I'm not gay, I'm bi I think."

"And I was married to my work." Sherlock flatly stated and John gave him a hurt look. But before he could feel upset, the younger man finished, "Until I met you."

"I love you too Sherlock," John grinned.

"This has been the best Christmas ever," Sherlock smiled, leaning over onto John's seat and kissing him.


	10. Jumpers

_A/N: Thankies for the reviews everyone :3 I will hopefully be making some more soon. Major brain fart for like a week. Here's a mini story x3_

John was confused again. He was looking for his favorite jumper and it seemed to be nowhere in sight. "Sherlock?"

"WHAT!" his voice yelled from the other room. Then there was a loud bang.

"What on earth..." the doctor left his room and walked into the kitchen, where Sherlock unfortunately experimented most of the time. Why couldn't he at least do it in his room?

"I was testing the combustibility of a certain woolen fiber that the victim was using in the crime scene," Sherlock explained.

"Can't you at least do it in the bedroom...and holy crap, what have you done do my jumper!" John glared at the younger man who was looking back at him in his normal complacent face. He never seemed to know when what he was doing was a bit not good.

"I told you, I was testing the combustibility-"

"I know that! But why did you feel the need to destroy my jumper?" John frowned.

"As I was saying, your jumper has the same woolen fiber that can imitate how the victim burned, and thus tell if he was mudered," Sherlock rambled off quite quickly.

"Was he?" John couldn't help being curious, only to regret it in a moment.

"It was the dumped girlfriend's brother of course. You should know that; pay attention more often," he walked away.

John followed him, this time a little more than upset. "Sherlock, number one, clean up your...experiment. And number two, you're buying me a new jumper. And number three, stop EXPLODING my stuff!" John yelled and Sherlock turned swiftly, a small flash of guilt in his eyes.

"My apologies," he said suddenly, and then whisked away again. John gaped after him. Since when did Sherlock Holmes apologize?

"It's...okay," he told him.

"Oh and I may have eaten your jam while you were gon."

"SHERLOCK!"


End file.
